Death's Row
by PhoenixFire55
Summary: A year after the war, Reiben thinks he's found a miracle... in a place where hope is hard to come by. But as the truth unfolds, he has to decide for himself- are there some things you just can't be forgiven for?
1. Reiben

**Dedicated to Captain Hilts- a real 'Miracle Worker.'**

"Ya gotta let me out, man! I didn't do it, I swear!"

"Of course you didn't," I mutter, lighting another cigarette as I lean against the bars of his cell.

"Hey," the new prisoner shouts. "Hey, you! You gotta let me out! Ya hear me?"

I roll my eyes.

"I'm innocent! It wasn't me! Ya gotta believe me!"

"Keep shouting, Gallaso," I tell him. "I'm about to let you out. I swear. You gotta believe me."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Yeah, and so is every other scumbag in maximum security."

"_Please._ Ya gotta help me!"

Help me. _Help me_. Stupid words, really, when you think about it. By the time you're asking for help, it's already too late, isn't it?

I would know.

"Give it up, Gallaso," I mutter, shaking my head.

"…But I can't give up," he murmurs. "I _can't_."

I don't know why it bothers me, but it does. I hate it when people hope, especially in a prison. I turn around so I'm facing his cell.

"Look, you're new here, so I'm gonna explain something to you, alright? This is _maximum security._ There's no way out of here. It's over. So just _give up._"

"You don't understand," he tells me. "I didn't do it."

I grab the bars of his cell and glare at him.

"You can say it a million times, but that doesn't make it any more true. You might be able to fool the other guards, and the cops, and the judge, and anyone else who'll listen. But you can't fool another liar."

I glance down the hallway as the door opens. It's Jackson, probably coming to tell me that the guys from the night shift are here.

Immediately I feel better. My shift is over.

As I pull my hands away from the bars, I catch Gallaso's eye.

"You're not a liar," he says softly.

I back up, trying to look away. But his eyes are like quicksand. The harder you struggle the deeper they drag you.

"You don't know anything about me," I hiss.

"But I do, Richard. I know you very well."

I feel my heart stop.

I never told him my name.

"Hey, Reiben," Jackson says from behind me. "You okay?"

And just like that, the spell is broken. Something in Gallaso's eyes change, and I look away.

"…How do you know my name?" I ask him quietly. But he just stares at me blankly.

"I don't," he says. "Why would I know you're name?"

That's what I want to know.

"Never mind," I tell him, shaking my head.

I turn around and face Jackson.

"Are the guys from the night shift here yet?" I ask distractedly.

"They're gonna be late," he says.

"What?"

He glances at the floor.

"…It's not like you have anywhere to go, anyway," he mumbles.

I feel my ears burn.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

But Jackson only shakes his head.

"Nothing, Reiben… Nothing."

A year ago, I would've argued.

Although, a year ago, Jackson and I could stand in the same room without feeling lost, and a little empty, as if a few people are missing. And they are.

A year ago it was 1944 and I was drowning in bloody water.

A year ago I was in France and Caparzo was bleeding on the ground, the rain pouring down on us and…

No.

Not again.

It's over.

I turn and walk down the tier, past murderers, past death row prisoners, past the scum who will never walk barefoot again, men who will never leave this prison, men who will always be hated by society… and I wish I could be one of them. Because no matter what memories run through their minds day after day as they're locked in their filthy cells, no matter how badly they make them cringe… they will never be as horrible as mine.

What are you thinking?

Who is this guy? Does he ever stop feeling sorry for himself?

Well, why don't you ask yourself this instead…

If war is hell, then what comes after?

"Hey, Jackson?" I yell after him as he heads to the door.

"Huh?" he asks, spinning around to face me.

"Do you still remember her?"

"…Who?"

"_Her_."

"…Reiben," he pauses, then sighs. "You gotta let her go…"

I step back, because I know that's impossible.

"… I can't," I whisper. And then I wonder- is this how Gallaso feels?

Jackson turns away.

"…She wasn't what you would call a listener," he says softly.

"…No," I whisper, because suddenly it's too hard to speak. "She wasn't. She was a… creative thinker,"

Jackson snorts.

"Yeah, that's one way to put it," he mumbles.

I can't help it - I laugh. Lightly, but Jackson hears. He spins around in surprise. And then I guess he can't help it either, because suddenly we're both laughing. We get louder and we keep laughing until we don't even know _why_ we're laughing.

But I guess that's the best kind of laughter, isn't it? As Elizabeth would say, you don't need a reason to do anything.

Elizabeth.

And just like that I stop laughing.

As the tears hit the floor, I step back in surprise, because I don't do this. I _never_ cry. And I _especially_ don't cry in front of people.

That's how I realize that they're not my tears.

"Jackson?" I ask, because it has to be him. We're the only people in this hallway.

But he doesn't here me because he's too busy staring in shock at Gallaso.

Who's standing next to me.

Crying.

I spin around and yank at Gallaso's empty cell door, but it's locked. There's no way he could've gotten out of that cell.

And yet he's standing next to me.

At the least, I would've heard him open the cell door. I mean, I was standing right in front of it. And I definitely would've heard him close the cell door.

And how the hell did he lock it back up?

I search my uniform for my keys, but… they're still there. Did he steal Jackson's keys? Jackson searches his uniform and… pulls out his keys.

How was this possible?

I shove the Gallaso against the cell opposite his as Jackson unlocks the empty cell.

Gallaso stares at me, wide-eyed, tears still rolling down his face. He has that look again, like quicksand, and I can't look away.

"You think it's all your fault," he whispers to me. "She needed you… and you just let her go."

But the strangest thing is… he doesn't say it in a threatening way, as if he's trying to play mind games with me. No. He says it in a kinder way. And it seems to me that he's trying to tell me something.

That he forgives me.

I tighten my jaw.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" I shout at him, tightening my grip on his neck.

"Please," he chokes out. "_Please._ It's not your fault. It's too late to help her, but please, _please_… at least help me."

Jackson grabs one of Gallaso's shoulders, and I let go of his neck to grab the other. Together, we throw him into his cell. I slide the door closed and Jackson locks it back up.

Shaking, I slide down the wall onto the floor.

Jackson does the same thing on the opposite wall.

"How did he get out?" he whispers.

"… He knows," I croak.

"How to get out?"

"No… what we did. He knows what we did," I whisper hoarsely. Jackson stares at Gallaso as if he knows some dark, horrible secret. Which he probably does.

But, no. He can't know. We were the only people there, the only people who saw... what we did. He can't know. He just can't.

Still shaking, I stand up walk down the hall in a daze.

There's no way Gallaso could've gotten out of that cell unnoticed. There's no way he could've gotten out, period.

And even if he _had_ gotten himself out, why would he hang around crying when he could've escaped?

That's another thing. Prisoners don't cry.

"Reiben," Jackson comes up behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

I tense.

The thing about prison is, no one touches you. Ever. Because when people hate you enough to want to lock you away forever, it hurts to be touched.

And when you spend every day guarding Brooklyn's most wanted, knowing that you're no better than them, that one wrong move could've landed you in the cell right next to them, you learn to hate being touched, too.

Or, if you're like me, and you know that there's a cell reserved just for you, a cell that you're bound to be thrown in soon, because it's just a matter of time before someone discovers your secret… well, then it _burns_ to be touched.

But that's just me.

"We had to do it," he says. "You know that."

I turn around to face him, and he takes his hand off my shoulder.

"No judge in Brooklyn is gonna believe a word you say," I tell him, my voice cracking. "And _you_ know _that_."

"What's goin' on?" someone says from the doorway.

I spin around and come face to face with one of the night guards, Mikowsi, who's frozen with his hand on the door, waiting for us to do something.

"Nothing," I say quickly. Too quickly.

I push past him, into the outer room where I throw my gun onto the table and head to the second door, the one that leads outside.

"Gallaso got out," I hear Jackson tell Mikowski.

"Who's Gallaso?" Mikowski asks.

"The new guy," I mutter.

"How'd he get out?" Mikowski asks in surprise.

Jackson shrugs.

"We were standing right in front of his cell," he says. "I don't know how he got out."

"How'd you get him back in?"

Jackson glances at me.

"Violently," he says, and follows me out the door.

On the way to my car, I run into Sorelli, the other Q-tier night guard, and a few other night guards from different tiers.

I slide into the front seat, and Jackson gets in the passenger side.

My hands shake as I light a cigarette.

"How would Gallaso know what we did?" Jackson asks me after a while.

Turning on the old car, I think about the new inmate.

"He said it wasn't my fault… what happened to her," I say quietly as I pull the car out of the prison parking lot.

Headlights dance across the windshield and reflect across the wet street.

"Maybe he wasn't talking about you," Jackson says thoughtfully.

"What?" I ask.

But Jackson just looks out his window as if he regrets saying anything.

"What do you mean?"

"It sure rains a lot here," he murmurs, still staring out the window.

I pull the car over and kill the engine. The night guards were late, a prisoner escaped, I feel like I'm going crazy, and there's no way in hell I'm just gonna sit here and be ignored after all I've been through.

"Jackson," I say. "What do you mean he wasn't talking about me?"

Slowly, he turns his head to look at me.

"…Do you know why Gallaso is in jail?" he asks just as slowly.

I shrug.

"Murder?"

Jackson looks out the window again.

"…He killed a little girl, Reiben," he murmurs.

I look away. A year ago, that wouldn't have bothered me. It happens all the time in New York. But that's the thing about being a bleeding heart, I guess.

Once your heart's broken, the only thing it's capable of, really, is bleeding.

But nothing bleeds forever. I know. I've seen it happen.

Eventually it just dies.

"Maybe he was just talking about himself," Jackson says dismissively.

Suddenly, I'm angry. That guy killed a little girl. And _he_ was crying? What if it had been Elizabeth he killed? And he asked _me_ for help?

He asked me for help.

He asked _me_ to help _him_.

"But he couldn't have been talking about himself," I say. "He told me it was too late to help her… and then he asked me to help _him_. He wouldn't have asked _himself_ to do that, right?"

"Reiben, he's a prisoner on _death row_," Jackson says, staring at me incredulously. "People get weird in there."

I stare at him for a second, then turn the car back on. Shaking my head, I pull back onto the road.

A few minutes later, I pull up in front of a run-down apartment building.

I live at 57 Worth Street.

How ironic.

"What are you going to do to him?" Jackson asks.

"Gallaso?"

Jackson nods.

"You're gonna have to kill him," he murmurs.

I hate my job. Of all the tiers on the prison, I get stuck with Q-tier, maximum security. I don't open the trap door, I just tie the noose. Is it still murder if you do it indirectly?

"I'm just gonna do my job," I say quietly.

"… You're relating this guy to her," Jackson says slowly.

"No, I'm not. I just think it's weird that this new prisoner killed a little girl, managed to escape out of a maximum security cell, and knows about Elizabeth."

Jackson is quiet for a while.

"When you love someone," he says hoarsely. "No matter what you tell yourself, it stops being a job."

"What is it, then?"

"Revenge."

I freeze. Is that what I want? Revenge? _Could_ I get revenge by killing Gallaso? Would that make this whole nightmare go away? But Gallaso isn't the source of my problem, he's the source of someone else's.

"I'm not looking for revenge," I say quietly.

"I know."

"Then what am I looking for?"

Jackson doesn't say anything, just turns and stares out the window.

Finally, he turns back, looks me right in the eye, and I swear he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"It's a _prison_, Reiben. If you're looking for a miracle, then you're looking in the wrong place."

And suddenly I feel like I know what I'm supposed to do. I think of the pleading look in Gallaso's eyes. I think of the way he begged me to help him. I think of the way he _cried_. Of the way he talked about me like he knew me. Of the way he didn't even try to escape. Maybe he didn't even want to escape, maybe he really did just want my help. And I think of the way he somehow got out of that maximum security cell without a sound. What if Gallaso doesn't want me to help him escape? What if he wants me to help him redeem himself instead?

And I think that maybe, just maybe... Gallaso doesn't want me to save his life. What if he wants me to save his soul?

Isn't that a miracle in itself?

"What if I'm not looking, Jackson?" I ask hoarsely. I glance a the street sign- **Worth,** and all the pain of the last year hits me like a wave. "What if I already found one?"


	2. Jackson

"Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace. Shepherds quake at the-"

"Do you _mind_?" Reiben asks the carolers impatiently before barreling through them. He'd been standing in front of them for three minutes, and they'd probably assumed he was listening to their songs. In fact, for three full minutes, I had tricked myself into believing he was listening. He wasn't, though.

He was just trying to get to his front door.

"Sight. Glories stream from heaven afar…"

I follow Reiben to the front door as the carolers resume their singing.

"Why do they do that again?" I ask as we stomp up the stairs. Stopping at room 13, Reiben pulls out a key.

"They'll tell you they're trying to 'spread Christmas cheer,' but they really just want to scam you out of your money," Reiben says as he opens the door.

I shake my head. New York is crazy.

It's been a few weeks since Gallaso got out of his cell. For a few days, I actually believed Reiben. Thought that maybe he _had_ found a miracle. But Gallaso isn't anyone special. He's just another prisoner.

As I glance down the street, I think about the day I came to New York. The whole way up here, I was waiting for the rich city my father had always described excitedly. What I saw was a filthy city with suspicious-looking people hanging around every corner, smoking. Reiben must've seen my face, because he laughed.

"Relax, man," he said. "This is just the Bronx. We're going to Brooklyn."

Brooklyn is better than the Bronx, but still loud, obnoxious, and filthy. I thought I would hate it her.

But I like it.

The truth is, I couldn't stand the silence. That's why I left Tennessee. I'd been waiting the whole war to go home and just get some peace and quiet. But I'd find myself fidgeting at the dinner table, my eyes flickering around the room, my ears ringing. I'd grown accustomed to the noises of war, and suddenly I was thrown into this quiet house, where even the smallest outburst of noise made me jump.

But the people in this city are just as foul-mouthed as soldiers, and the noise is horrendous.

But the best part is, the people here could care less about you. They never ask questions, no matter how suspicious you look. And they never, _ever _ask how you're doing. Back in Tennessee, everyone knew me. People were constantly pulling me aside to ask me how I was and to tell me what a good thing I'd done, fighting for our country and all. I used to believe them. Only, now, I'm not so sure.

All I know is, I don't want to die slowly, yelling, all torn up and mutilated, with no one to help me. And I have to believe that the German soldiers I shot felt the same way.

I see the same things in Reiben. He came down to Tennessee for a few days before I moved here, and he absolutely hated the quiet. He'd shuffle his feet around, cough, and talk nonstop just to fill up the silence. But I get the feeling he hated it for a different reason than me. I think he just couldn't stand to be alone with his memories.

"_Shit_," Reiben says. I turn around and find him stepping in dog crap.

"Rebel!" he shouts. The big dog comes slinking into the room. He knows how this works.

Seeing Rebel look at him with those big, pitiful eyes, Reiben gives up.

"Go get your leash," he mumbles. Rebel bounds off happily, returning moments later with a leash.

"Uh… you know, I would, but Rebel wants to walk," Reiben says, pointing to the unpleasant pile on the floor.

I roll my eyes, but I clean it up anyway.

Rebel still hasn't gotten used to being stuck inside all day. It wasn't that hard to get him over here, actually. All Reiben had to do was convince a couple of his friends from the navy to hide a possibly disease-ridden dog on the boat we came back on.

Reiben and Rebel leave, and I watch them from the window. Reiben wipes the bottom of his shoe in the snow, glances down at it, and keeps walking, even though I can see from the third story window that his shoe is still pretty dirty.

They walk down the street, snow falling softly around them, and I'm about to go grab something to eat when I see Reiben freeze in front of an alley. He looks like he's listening to something.

My heart skips a beat. Is it Elizabeth?

I look at the street. It's getting dark out, and the carolers already left. There's no one else outside, except the men that hang around in the shadows, chain smoking.

Still in my uniform, I dash down the stairs and out onto the street. Silently appearing beside Reiben, I hear something I'd hoped I'd never have to hear again.

"Get away from me."

It's a woman's voice, and she sounds scared.

"What? You think you can get away? Come here, baby."

I clench my hands into fists as I hear the man talk.

Reiben looks at me.

"He sounds big," he whispers. "He might have a gun."

"No! Please, somebody help me!"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Rebel pulls at the leash and growls softly. Reiben tries to pull him away and calm him down, but then there's some shuffling in the alley and Rebel loses it.

He throws himself around wildly, barking and trying to get loose.

Reiben, horrified, tries to pull Rebel away, but his leash breaks and he runs into the alley. Reiben cringes, waiting for a gunshot, but all we can hear is Rebel growling softly again.

"Rebel?" Reiben calls. He glances at me.

We count to three, then step into the alley, side-by-side.

The man jumps and points a gun at us, his hand shaking.

"Calm down, Valvasorri," someone with a Brooklyn accent says from behind us. "These men just want their dog back, right fellas?"

Reiben turns around to face the man and nods tensely.

"See Valvasorri, they won't say nothin' to the cops. They understand, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. This is our god-given _right_, Valvasorri, and every guy knows that. So why don't you just put the gun down, and let these two gentleman leave with their dog."

Valvassori nods and lowers the gun obediently. Reiben grabs Rebel's collar and drags him out of the alley. He nods as he passes the man who saved us, not even giving a second glance to the woman in the alley. I do.

She hates us, I can tell. And I don't blame her. But behind all that anger, she's scared. They're going to kill her.

I tear my eyes away and follow Reiben back to the apartment, numbly climb the steps, and stare at him coldly as he locks the door and closes the blinds on the window.

"Are you gonna call the police?" I ask when he's finished.

"Are you crazy?" he asks incredulously. "No way!"

"Then what are you gonna do?"

He stares at me.

"Are you serious?" he asks.

I nod.

"I'm not gonna do anything!" he says.

"How can you stand here and let them do that to her?"

"It's not my problem!" he says. "They don't just pull random people off the street in the middle of the day, Jackson! Either that lady was stupid enough to go walking around in the dark by herself, or she's _letting_ him do that to her!"

All of a sudden, I'm reminded again of the Bronx. I had always assumed that New York City was an exciting place, what with the Statue of Liberty and Central Park and all. But there's this whole other side of the city that no one ever bothers to tell you about. There are poor people roaming the streets and murderers and drug dealers on ever corner that everyone seems to conveniently forget.

"This city is unbelievable," I murmur. "You people let this stuff happen right in front of you, because it doesn't matter as long as _you _don't get hurt… that's the way you were with Elizabeth, too."

Reiben slams me up against the door.

"We _helped_ her," he hisses. "And look what happened! You really want to go through that again? Don't you have enough secrets?"

Do I have enough secrets?

I never used to keep secrets before that sniper rifle was put in my hands. It's the same as lying, and I never wanted anything to do with it.

But then I started realizing things, like how it's better _not_ to tell your mom that her only son is a murderer, better to just let her keep on believing what I told her. That I never fired a single shot in this war.

And then I thought, why tell Elizabeth that she'll be sent to jail and probably wind up on death row for crimes against her country? I mean, she and that gang almost made us lose the whole war. No, better to just let her go on believing we'll take care of her.

And then, of course, there's prison. I told Reiben that I wanted to be a prison guard because it's the only thing I can imagine myself doing in this city. But that's a lie.

I only wanted this job so that when Elizabeth _does _get put on death row, I can try to save her, and maybe make up for… last time.

When I couldn't save her.

All of a sudden I'm beating myself up again. Why didn't I get there in time? How did I not see it coming?

And how come I pulled the trigger twice?

Rebel whines, and Reiben, realizing what he's doing, lets go of me and backs away.

"If you stop them, they'll go after you, and they'll kill you," he says.

"But I have to, Reiben," I say. He understands that more than anyone, I think.

He glares at me before going to his bedroom. He comes back a few seconds later with two pistols. He hands one to me, then puts the second on the counter.

"You're not coming?" I ask quietly.

He solemnly shakes his head.

I back out the door and dart down the steps. I can hear scuffling in the alley, and suddenly I feel sick.

_The rest of us had enough common sense to know that it was a bad idea. But Elizabeth wasn't like the rest of us. _

Suddenly, I sense Reiben coming up behind me. I turn around and give him a questioning look.

"'Never shall I fail my comrades'- didn't you read the Ranger Creed, bible boy?" he whispers.

Smiling, I inch closer to the alley.

"_It'll work," Elizabeth shouted over the noise of the makeshift bar. _

"_It better," Miller said. _

"_Take out those bodyguards," Elizabeth whispered as we entered a quiet hallway. There were two men standing in front of a closed door. _

"_Are you sure this is gonna work?" Reiben asked her._

"_How could it not?" she asked. We could all smell the alcohol on her breath._

"_How many beers?" Miller asked._

"_I don't drink," she said as she pulled an explosive out of her pack. _

"_How many beers?" Miller asked again. She finished counting her explosives before glancing up at Miller and speaking. _

"_...One," she muttered. "One beer, I swear."_

_I searched for that familiar look in her eyes, that mischievous glint that tells me she's lying. But there was none. _

_Miller analyzed her face for a few seconds before tightening his grip on his M-1 Garand. The rest of us just stared blankly at Elizabeth. _

"_You heard her," Miller said. "We're taking out those bodyguards."_

"_But, Captain… she was drinking," Reiben said. It wasn't really that much beer, but we all knew Elizabeth already had bad judgment. And now it was tainted with alcohol?_

_Elizabeth stared at Reiben in shock, looking hurt. She'd thought he was on her side. _

_Miller looked at the rest of us, could see we were all thinking the same thing, and sighed._

"_Look," he said in a tired voice. "I can't make you trust Elizabeth. If you want to leave, then… go ahead."_

_Had it been any other mission, we would've followed Captain Miller to hell. And I think he knew that. But this mission was different. This mission went beyond everything we'd been told, everything we'd seen up to this point. In this mission, our enemy wore the same uniform and spoke the same language. In this mission, the men we were killing were our friends. _

_It hadn't taken Elizabeth long to figure out what the Five Points gang was doing here with Al Capone. And once she had, we had systematically destroyed every makeshift gang hideout in France we came across, searching for Capone. That's what the explosives were for._

_We were killing members of the Italian mafia, and somehow the Irish mafia had gotten mixed up in the middle of it, sometimes on our side, sometimes not. That made anyone with an Irish name a possible enemy, and anyone with an Italian a suspect to be interviewed at gunpoint, especially if they came from New York or Chicago. _

_The hardest part is that most of them are part of the American army. It's not easy to shoot the men you went to basic with. _

_Elizabeth hadn't trusted Caparzo until the day he bled to death in the rain, shot down by a sniper who Elizabeth recognized as Anthony Privitera, an assassin handpicked by Capone. _

_Elizabeth is convinced Privitera didn't shoot Caparzo in the head while he was dying on the ground simply because he'd wanted to watch Caparzo suffer. Reiben and Mellish were quick to agree with her. But I saw Privitera's scared face through my Springfield, and I like to think that Privitera hadn't shot Caparzo in the head because he, like us, had hoped that the soldier might make it. _

_Not even Upham agreed with me on that one. _

I hear quiet sobbing in the alley and move faster. I don't think I'd be able to take it if I got there too late… again.

"_I trust Elizabeth," Upham said, surprising the rest of us. Upham, the scared little Corporal, Upham, the rational mapmaker, Upham, the one who beat the rest of us when it came to proving our loyalty._

_Wade stared at Elizabeth curiously before speaking, as if he was trying to figure out why she'd helped us for this long. _

"_I trust Elizabeth," he said after a minute. _

"_I trust her," Horvath said. _

"_Me, too," Mellish said._

_I stared at Elizabeth for a second, then nodded._

"_Me, too."_

_Elizabeth glanced at Reiben, a hopeful look in her eyes. _

"_Which one do you want me to shoot first?" he asked her. The most amazing smile spread across her face and she stuffed the explosives back in her bag. _

"_I've got a better idea," she said. "Don't take the guards out until I close the door, okay?"_

_We nodded, then watched, horrified, as she threw herself around the hallway, occasionally grabbing onto the wall like she needed to balance herself._

"_How drunk is she?" Reiben hissed._

"_She's faking it," Russell said from behind us. We turned around. _

"_Where've you been?" Miller asked._

"_There was something I had to pick up," he said absently, watching Elizabeth stop in front of the bodyguards. _

"_I need to see… the guy in that room," she slurred. _

_The men smirked at each other. _

"_I think he wants to see you, too," one of them said as the other opened the door._

"_Hey, Ramazzo!" he shouted. "There's a drunk girl here, says she wants to see you."_

_I could just make out a shadowy figure sitting in a chair, smoke curling up around his face. He took a long drag from his cigar before speaking._

"_Is she pretty?" he asked slowly. _

_One of the men glanced at Elizabeth._

"_She's not bad," he said. "Kind of ordinary… but very drunk." _

_The man inside took another long drag._

"_Bring her in," he said in a bored voice. _

"_What are they doing?" Mellish asked in a strange voice, though we all knew what was happening. _

_Before we could stop him, though, we saw Elizabeth point her M-1 Garand at the man and kick the door shut with her foot. _

"_Hey!" the guards shouted, realizing they'd been tricked. But as they reached for the doorknob, Miller and Horvath stepped into the hallway, pointing their weapons at the men._

"_Touch that door and we'll kill you," Miller said calmly. _

"_Get away from me," we heard Elizabeth say in an annoyed tone from inside the door. "You think I came in here alone? There's twenty guys outside the door, and another fifty surrounding the place."_

"… _I think you're bluffing, little girl," the man said in a creepy voice. _

"_Get away from me!" Elizabeth said, her voice cracking in fear. _

_We all knew the man had somehow taken her gun. There was nothing else she could do unless she took out the explosives. But none of us thought she'd actually be daring enough start the unpredictable explosives while she was trapped in the room. I wish I could tell you we were right. But fear does strange things to people._

"_Get off of me!" she shouted. "Help! Captain Miller!"_

_As he heard her shout his name, Captain Miller shot the first guard. Horvath took out the second one. But at the sound of the gunshots, a crowd of American soldiers came running into the hallway. They were unarmed, and a number of them were drunk. The thing is, those guys were actually on our side. And that was enough for me to put my gun down. The rest of the squad did the same thing. Miller reached for the door to help Elizabeth, but to the soldiers it must've looked like he wanted a turn in that room with her. And unfortunately, these particular soldiers were decent men. They simultaneously blocked the door and attacked us, punching, kicking, anything to get us on the ground. _

_As the others took down the men in front of them, Reiben and I weaved our way to the middle, until we were standing in front of the men blocking the door. _

_Reiben took the smaller guy, easily sending him to the ground, where he moaned and held his nose. Reiben and I glanced at each other. We'd both been there. _

_Together we turned and faced the 6' 8", extremely muscled man. But he looked like he'd had quite a few beers and no one was as angry as Reiben at that moment. Reiben shoved the guy aside and threw the door open. _

_Elizabeth was lying on the floor, kicking Ramazzo, who was on top of her, trying to pull her clothes off. As we watched, Elizabeth stopped struggling. She just was just lying there, crying, as Ramazzo smiled and reached for her._

_No matter how long I live, I don't think I'll ever hear anything that could make me feel as sick as I felt when Ramazzo turned to us and spoke. _

"_You want her next?"_

_As Reiben reached for his pistol, Elizabeth grabbed an explosive she had already started and stuffed it down Ramazzo's suit. He immediately jumped up, grabbing at his suit, trying to get it out. _

_Reiben grabbed Elizabeth's hand and helped her up. She started for the door, but Ramazzo grabbed her arm and threw her into the farthest corner of the room, then tossed the explosive after her. _

_In a split-second, the four of us were on the floor. Elizabeth was lying on the floor, rolling from side to side, holding the left side of her face and screaming. _

_But all I could hear was a loud ringing noise as Ramazzo tried to stand up. I barely heard the gun as Reiben shot him. It was still ringing when one of the soldiers came into the room, trying to help us. It was still ringing when my pistol went off in my hand. And it was still ringing when Reiben shot the next soldier who came in, a guy trying to help the soldier I'd shot. I didn't even realize I was holding the gun until it went off a second time, as another soldier entered the room. The pistol was hot in my hands when I threw it across the room. I turned just as Reiben shot the fourth soldier to come in, and I saw in slow motion Reiben stare at the gun in his hand as if it was poisonous. _

_And every man in that room would tell you it was. _

"Sorry, man," Valvasorri says to me as I enter the alley, Reiben standing next to me. "I already finished. I wouldn't have shot her if I'd known you wanted a turn."

I stare down at the floor, but instead of seeing the scared, black-haired, 20 year old dead woman who's lying in the snow, I see a cocky, blonde, 15 year old girl with an eye patch.

That could've been her. That could've been Elizabeth.

Did I want a turn?

Before I understand what I'm doing, Reiben and I shoot. Valvasorri falls to the ground, a confused look on his face, as Reiben and I glance at each other, then tear off down the street. We run up the stairs of 57 Worth Street for the third time that night. What we've done doesn't really hit me until I'm safely inside.

Shaking, I fall to the ground. I drop my head in my hands and just sit there, waiting for someone to come pounding on the door so that they can drag us away.

But nothing happens, and when I look up again, Reiben is sitting against the door, holding his head in his hands and shaking, just like me.

What had we done? Valvasorri didn't deserve to die, did he? A lot of people do that here, why did he have to die for it? And why did I have to be the one who killed him? I don't mean to kill him. I didn't _want_ to kill him. But when I was in that alley… instinct took over. When I was in that alley, all I could think was that if I didn't shoot that German, he would shoot me. But he was _American_.

_I stared at the four men Reiben and I had shot. Looking back, I wish that the ringing in my ears had lasted just a little longer, because when Wade came into the room and stared in horror at the five dead men on the floor, I heard what he said with perfect ears. _

"_What did you do?" he said in a strange, hoarse voice._

_A year later, I still don't know what I did. All I know is that one second the explosive went off, and the next second I shot the man who walked in the room to help us. _

_I don't know what happened then, but I do know what happened after. I know that after I shot them, the first soldier lived, but the one who came in to help him bled to death. I know that I pray for them every day, and I think about their parents whenever I see mine. And I know that every day I wish that the first soldier who came through the door had killed me before I had the chance to shoot his friend._

_I stared at the blood all over the room as Wade saw Elizabeth. _

"_No…" he whimpered. "No."_

_He walked slowly to the other end of the room, where Elizabeth was lying, staring up at the ceiling, not moving. I don't remember if I thought she was dead, but I know Wade did. So when she turned her head slightly to look at him with eyes that clearly weren't seeing anything, all the blood left his face. _

_Because as it turns out, hell isn't watching the people you love get hurt. It's walking into the room when it's already too late to stop it from happening. _

Still shaking, I pray softly and ask for forgiveness.

_Ramazzo hadn't gotten a chance to hurt Elizabeth the way he'd meant to. He'd taken her eye, though. Wade had said we were lucky, that it could've been worse. The explosives were unpredictable. Sometimes they create big explosions, sometimes they create small ones, and sometimes they don't go off at all. This one had only created a small explosion, and Ramazzo, hurrying to get the explosive out of his hand, had tossed it too far away from Elizabeth to do much damage. Shrapnel in her eye, or something. _

_Initially after the explosion, Elizabeth couldn't see anything. Wade said something about it being shock-related, but I think she just didn't want to see. _

_Wade found some more medics and they did what they could with her eye, I guess. Or at least that's what they said. Seems to me they just looked at it and gave up. _

_Elizabeth had curled up in the corner of that bloody room and just sat there, tears streaming down her face. I don't think she was crying about what Ramazzo had done, though. I think she just wanted to see. _

_Wade sat in that corner with her for hours. Just sat there and held her. With Wade's arms around her, Elizabeth eventually calmed down. Wade kept whispering to her. None of us knew what he was saying, just that it seemed to make her feel better. But we all heard the last thing he said to her. She looked up at him with soft, hurt eyes, and what he said still haunts me today._

"_Miracles are closer than you think," he whispered softly._

_And that was all it took. Elizabeth stood up and found an eye patch. She pulled it over her eye, and then she just got over it. _

_Elizabeth had never been the kind of person to spend a lot of time brooding. I think she just told herself that Ramazzo hadn't done anything to her, that she could still see out of one eye, and that she might die in a few days anyway, so what did it matter? _

When I look up again, Reiben is still sitting there with his head in his hands. Rebel comes up to Reiben and nudges him. Reiben slowly lifts his head up and stares into Rebel's eyes. Rebel looks at Reiben, then at me, then at the door. He sniffs the air and glances around like he's trying to find someone. He's been doing that ever since he got here, but it isn't until now that I realize what he's looking for.

Rebel whimpers and looks at Reiben, as if he can help him find what he's looking for.

"I know, Rebel," Reiben murmurs. "She left me behind, too."

My eyes sting, and I look away.

She left us all behind.

Just then the phone rings, and the three of us jump. Reiben slowly stands up and grabs the phone.

"Hello?" he says, his voice shaking. "What? _What?_ How did… yeah, we'll look."

He slams the phone down, tangling the cord in the process. Then he looks at me grimly.

"Gallaso got out," he says.

I just look at him.

"No, _out_," he says again.

"You mean…?"

"Out of the prison," he says, reaching for the pistol he'd dropped on the floor.

I snatch my own pistol off the ground and follow Reiben out the door.

"Where do you think he went?" I ask.

"Probably to the train station," he answers as we step onto the street.

"Give, and it shall be given to you."

Reiben freezes.

"What did you say?" he whispers to me.

"I didn't say anything. It came from the alley."

Reiben looks at me. Did someone find the body already? Whoever had talked was quoting the bible. But neither of us really felt like going back into the alley.

Reiben shrugs, then inches down the wall towards the alley for the second time that night. As we get closer, we can hear shuffling again.

Reiben and I count to three, then step into the alley, side-by-side.

"That's sick," Reiben murmurs. There's a man in the alley, leaning over Valvasorri. The man is scooping Valvasorri's blood into a jar. Suddenly, I feel like I might puke.

The man, hearing Reiben's voice, slowly turns his head to look at us. Reiben raises his pistol. But there's something familiar about the guy.

"Gallaso?" Reiben asks in disbelief.

Gallaso stares at him, a strange look in his eyes. Like a whirlpool. It just drags you under, deeper and deeper until you feel like you'll never see the sky again.

"…We didn't mean to," Reiben whispers, looking terrified. "We weren't trying to kill him, I swear."

I stare at Reiben. I don't think I've ever seen him look like this. Except for the day Elizabeth left, the day we searched for her everywhere.

Reiben looks as lost as he did the day Elizabeth Fletcher disappeared off the face of the earth.

It's something about Gallaso's eyes. They make you think that maybe if you just tell him everything… tell him the truth, maybe they'll save you from the whirlpool, take you back to the surface again.

Or maybe they'll take you home.

"Great men are not always wise," Gallaso says in a husky voice that doesn't sound anything like him. That's also from the bible.

This time, when he speaks, Gallaso looks right at me.

"Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace, and there shall be none."

I feel my body freeze.

And then something in Gallaso's eyes change. He looks at Reiben and throws his hands up behind his head, his eyes wide in terror. Reiben signals me to go back to the apartment and call the prison, so I run, not wanting to leave him alone for too long.

By the time I get back, nothing's changed. I stand next to Reiben and tell him the night guards will be here in a minute.

"Ughhh," someone groans. My eyes flicker to Valvasorri. As I watch, the dead man slowly pushes himself up and turns around. He doesn't see us, just walks out of the alley and into the street.

"_Shit_," Reiben murmurs. He takes a step to his left and knocks the jar of blood over with his foot. Just as the glass shatters, there's a thud in the street.

I walk out of the alley, and there's Valvasorri, lying on the ground, as dead as he was a minute ago.

"_NO_!" Gallaso shrieks.

Reiben jumps, aiming his pistol at Gallaso again.

I back away, down the street. This can't be happening. It just can't.

But as I get farther away from the alley, I see Gallaso run out of it. Reiben follows him in a daze, too shocked to shoot.

From where I'm standing, I see Gallaso sink to his knees and lean over Valvasorri. He's whispering something, something I can't hear. And then he's sobbing, his tears falling over Valvasorri.

I sigh in relief as the prison truck comes around the corner. The night guards jump out, handcuff Gallaso and stuff him in the back.

"Hey," Mikowski says to me with a nod. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," I murmur.

He gets in the car and they drive off.

Reiben, shaking now, backs away from Valvasorri. He drags his feet through the snow for a few steps, then spins around and walks purposefully down the street. He walks right by me, then up the steps and into the apartment building. Slowly, I follow him. But just as I step into the door, out of the corner of my eye I see Valvasorri get up and saunter down the street in the opposite direction. Reiben must see him, too, because he freezes in the doorway.

"It was the way we shot him," I say slowly, hoarsely. "He was never dead."

Reiben looks at me, really looks at me. And it seems to me he sees a whole lot more than he saw the last time he looked at me.

_Maybe it sounds like I'm trying to make Elizabeth out to be the good guy. Well, I'm not. Because she wasn't. She was a villain, in every sense of the word. Maybe it sounds like I'm trying to make you feel bad for her. Well, I'm not doing that, either. Because Elizabeth didn't lose any more than the rest of us did in that war. I mean, it must've been scary having Ramazzo on top of her, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what Caparzo must have felt, bleeding to death on the ground. Elizabeth Fletcher is the last person on earth you should feel bad for. Elizabeth wasn't a gentle person. She'd beat up anyone who was weaker than her. She wasn't smart, either. _

_But she was loyal._

"We killed him," Reiben says. "Gallaso brought him back."

"Why would Gallaso bring Valvasorri back? If he _did_ bring someone back- which he didn't- don't you think he would've brought that dead woman back?" I ask.

"Elizabeth got a second chance. Why shouldn't Valvasorri?"

"Because Elizabeth didn't change. She's still the same coward she was before."

I go back to the apartment, leaving Reiben on the stoop. He doesn't follow me. He sinks down in the snow, because he knows just as much as I do that Elizabeth could've been so much more. She could've saved everything. But we let her walk away.

"Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace, and there shall be none."

That's what Gallaso said. What does it mean, though? Is it a warning?

And then it hits me that maybe I'm right. Maybe Valvasorri was never dead. But maybe Reiben's right, too. Maybe the reason Valvasorri was never dead… is Gallaso.

What if a miracle isn't something that happens to you?

What if it's something that _doesn't_?


	3. The Assassin

I wake up with a woman I don't know lying next to me.

That happens a lot.

I blink, and stare at her as she comes into focus. I don't remember her. My head pounds as I get out of bed. I have to stop drinking so much.

"Richard," the girl says, following me out of my room, into the kitchen.

I turn around, annoyed. Why is she still here?

"What?" I ask in a tired voice.

She frowns, looking confused.

"Well-" she starts, but I cut her off.

"Are you leaving now?" I ask irritably.

She gasps.

"Do you even remember my name?" she asks angrily.

I frown. Marlene? Maureen? Marla?

"Yeah, it's…it's Marlene," I guess.

She stares at me in disgust, slaps me right across the face, and storms to the door.

"It's Andrea," she says angrily, before slamming the door.

Jackson watches her go with mild interest, and then laughs at me. I touch my hand to my stinging face, scowling.

"Who was she?" I ask Jackson.

He shrugs.

"Never seen her before," he says.

Me neither.

Three hours later, I'm sitting in the prison interrogation room with Gallaso.

"I already told you," Gallaso murmurs sadly. "I just wanted to help the guy. He was dying."

"But _how_ did you help him?" I ask.

"I asked him not to go."

"You asked him not to go? You must've done something else."

"Reiben… I asked him to stay, that's all."

"We shot him twice," I whisper angrily. "_Twice_. He was bleeding to death. You leaned down and you did something, and then he just got up and walked away."

"I asked him if he would stay," Gallaso says stubbornly.

I sigh, frustrated, but Gallaso still won't talk. I run my hand through my hair, and decide to take a different approach. I'll just start from the beginning.

"He stopped bleeding because you asked him to stay. Fine. But how did you escape?"

"Escape?" he asks, as if he doesn't remember doing it.

"How did you get out of your cell, Gallaso?"

He looks at me in bewilderment.

"It wasn't locked," he said simply.

I freeze. This changes things. Now the question isn't how he got out… it's who let him out.

"We locked all the cells before we left. Did the night guard let you out? Was it Mikowski?"

"No. It wasn't locked. It just slid open."

"That's not possible."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I locked your cell before I left!" I say angrily. "There's no way you could've gotten out unless someone opened the door for you. Who opened it, Gallaso? Who opened your cell?"

Gallaso just stares at me.

"Was it Mikowski?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"Was it a night guard?"

He shakes his head again. And slowly it starts to make sense to me. It wasn't a night guard. There's only two Q-tier day guards. And I didn't let Gallaso out.

"Did Jackson let you out?" I ask quietly.

But Gallaso just shakes his head again. Jackson comes into the room, glaring at me.

"Then who let you out?" I ask angrily. I've been sitting in this interrogation room for an hour, and I still have no idea what happened the other night.

"Reiben… you did."

My world stops. Gallaso moves, Jackson shouts something, there's a gunshot, but it just floats by me slowly. Because I let a murderer out of his cell.

A third man enters the room, holding a gun, but I can only focus on one important fact. I don't remember opening the cell. Which either means that I didn't let Gallaso out… or I tricked myself into thinking that I hadn't opened the cell. And if I let a murderer run out into the streets of New York, what else could I have done?

"Reiben!" Jackson shouts.

I snap back to the present, and suddenly everything registers. I stand up and edge over to the back wall, where Jackson's standing. Gallaso stands at the door, facing a man with a gun. I feel the blood drain from my face. This is the end. He'll shoot Gallaso, then us. I can't breathe.

"Where's the boy?" the man shouts.

No one answers.

"_Where's the boy_?" he shouts again.

"What boy?" I ask hoarsely.

"_Fletcher_! Where's Fletcher?"

Fletcher. My heart skips a beat, but then I remember. Fletcher _boy_. Not Elizabeth Fletcher.

"…Which Fletcher?" I ask.

The man crosses the room to stand directly in front of me and presses his gun into my chest.

"You know who I am?" he asks me quietly.

The fear is gone now, replaced with survival instincts, and a lifetime of watching gang murders tells me that this man is an assassin.

That means two things. First, that he's not after any of us. If he was, we'd already be dead. And second, he's not afraid to get his hands dirty. Which means that if he doesn't think he needs us, he'll kill the three of us right now. Assassins don't like witnesses. So we have to make him think he can't find Fletcher without us.

"You're a hit man," I say calmly.

"Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where's Fletcher?"

"…I know a lot of Fletchers," I say slowly.

He shoves his pistol harder against my chest.

"Russell Fletcher," he hisses. "Sixteen. Tall. Blond. Blue eyes. Ring a bell?"

Before I can stop myself, my mouth opens slightly in surprise. Russell is Elizabeth's cousin. I snap my mouth shut again, but it's too late.

"Where is he?" the man snaps. "You hiding him somewhere?"

And just like that, I'm trapped. Honestly, I have no idea where the hell Russell might be. I looked, when we first got back to New York. For the first few months, every blond haired kid looked like Elizabeth or Russell to me. But I never found them. And eventually I started asking myself why I even _wanted_ to find them. They left, both of them. Left us to die. And I never want to see them again. So, finally, I stopped looking. And I just gave up.

But if I don't tell this guy where Russell is, he'll shoot me. And if I make up a place, he'll go there, realize I'm lying, then come _back_ and shoot me.

I'm trying to decide what to do, when Gallaso does that thing with his eyes again, and I can't look away.

"Pennsylvania," Gallaso says. "Russell Fletcher's in Pennsylvania."

"And his accomplice?" the man with the gun asks.

"Accomplice?"

"The _girl_," the man with the gun says impatiently. "Fifteen? Blond?"

That could be anyone. I don't know exactly how old Elizabeth is. I don't know if Elizabeth and Russell are still accomplices. It could be anyone. _Anyone_.

"She's a real pain in the ass," the guy says. "Never shuts up."

Yeah, that's Elizabeth.

"Pennsylvania," Gallaso says again. "They're both in Pennsylvania."

"Where?"

"Indian Head. Indian Head, Pennsylvania. I don't have an address."

Another man walks in the door holding a gun.

"Don't shoot them," he says to the first man. "We don't want to leave a blood trail. By the time they get to the cops, Fletcher will already be dead."

The first man reluctantly follows the second guy through the door. The outer door of the prison slams and a car pulls away.

"Are they really in Pennsylvania?" Jackson asks quietly.

Gallaso nods.

"How the hell do you know that?" I ask Gallaso angrily.

"The other one told me," he says.

"The other one? The other Fletcher?"

Gallaso shakes his head.

"The other one," he repeats. "That assassin's already on his way to Pennsylvania. Someone hired him. Someone who told him that you would know where the Fletchers were. And he's not working alone. The second those guys find the Fletchers, Russell and Elizabeth are dead. They won't stand a chance."

"Then why'd you tell him where they were?"

"I didn't give them the address. I'm gonna give the address to you, so you'll be able to get to the Fletchers first."

I narrow my eyes.

"I'm not going to Pennsylvania."

"If you don't go, they'll die."

"And that's too bad for the police, but that's not my job. I'm a prison guard. I guard the murderers, not the victims."

"A soldier protects people, Reiben."

I pause. That stung. Because, once again, I'm reminded that the world would've been better off if I'd died instead of Captain Miller.

Or Wade.

"Then maybe you should go find one," I say coldly, walking away.

"I've seen the way he kills people, Reiben."

I stop walking, and slowly turn around to face him. Because Gallaso's voice sounds pained, almost haunted.

"He does it slowly. He taunts you. Sings a little lullaby. Then he stabs you, right in the stomach. And he twists the blade around. Then he blows you a kiss, and leaves you to die."

"…How do you know that?"

"Because I watched him kill a little girl, Reiben. And I couldn't save her."

I step back. Gallaso's trying to confuse me, I know that. Prisoners do it all the time, make you think they're innocent so you'll slip them a little extra food. Maybe a few cigarettes. Except Gallaso doesn't want cigarettes. He wants me to let him out.

And if he's telling the truth, then this wouldn't be the first time I fell for it.

"_You _killed her," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"I tried to help her. But she died anyway. She wanted to go."

"Go _where_?"

Gallaso just stares at me for a minute, then seems to forget that we were talking about him.

"They need you, Reiben. If you don't go, then it'll be your fault when they get hurt. And you don't need any more blood on your hands, do you?"

I knew it. Gallaso knows what we did. Gallaso turns to Jackson.

"You're the one who let her go. Don't you want to take back what you said to her? Or do you want 'I hate you' to be the last thing she ever hears from you?"

Jackson reaches for the pistol on his belt, but freezes at the last second. He knows how to control his anger. Not me.

I'm like Elizabeth, I guess.

Jackson looks at Gallaso, then at me. He seems to think something over, then he handcuffs Gallaso and takes him back to his cell.

"What did he mean, you're the one who let her go?" I ask Jackson when he gets back.

Jackson waits a minute before answering, thinking everything over.

"Remember the night she left?" he asks slowly.

"_There's gonna be a big battle," Miller said. "And I need to know that everyone here is on my side, and that no one's gonna switch sides."_

_He glanced at Elizabeth. She looked at the ground. _

"_Are you on our side?" Miller asked her quietly._

"_What happens after?" She asked. _

"_After what?"_

"_You know…after. After this. If I live. Then what happens? Do I go to jail?"_

_Miller looked out the window of the church, into the darkness of the night. _

"…_I don't think they'll send you to jail if you help us," he said hesitantly. _

"_Then what happens to me?"_

"_You go home."_

_She glanced away. _

"_And what happens if…if I don't have anywhere to go?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_You won't let them take me to a group home, right?" She whispered, trying to choke back tears. _

_Miller's face softened. _

"_I'm sure it won't be that bad…" he started. _

_But I knew it would be. The kids in the group homes, most of them end up in gangs. At least in New York group homes. And it had been so hard for her to get herself out of the gang. To make herself a good person again. If she went to a group home, she'd slip right back into being bad. _

"_You can't send me there," she choked out. "Please."_

_Miller glanced around at the squad. _

"_Then I guess this is a good time to decide who's gonna watch after you," he said quietly. _

_Elizabeth's head snapped up. _

"_What do you mean?" She asked hesitantly._

"_I mean if I die…who's gonna watch her back?"_

_I looked around at the squad. Who was left? Miller, Horvath, Upham, Mellish, Jackson, and me. _

"_I'll do it," I said quietly._

_Why did I offer to? Because I trusted her. What a mistake. _

_Everyone stared at me._

"_Wade asked me to," I said defensively. "That's all."_

"_And if Reiben dies?"_

_I cringed. I'd thought about dying, sure. But I'd never put it in words before. _

"_I'll do it," Jackson said. "If Reiben…I'll do it."_

_I guess Jackson couldn't say it either. _

"_Then who?" Miller asked. _

_And it went like that, until we had a list. Miller, then me, Jackson, Upham, Horvath, and Mellish. _

_That was it. The deciding moment. The moment I chose to trust Elizabeth to stay on our side. The moment I actually believed that she cared about us. _

_I couldn't have been more wrong about what was happening. _

_My mom used to say, get out while the getting's good. That's what she did, I guess. Left when everything was perfect. Before we hurt each other again._

_Because it seems to me that we were always hurting each other. When Elizabeth finally trusted me, I didn't trust her. And when I was finally ready to trust her, she didn't trust me. _

"_So, you're on our side now, right?" Miller asked Elizabeth. "No matter what?"_

_Something changed in Elizabeth's eyes. She went from looking happy, to looking hurt. I couldn't understand it, but now I guess that was the first warning sign that something was wrong. _

_Miller started talking to us about the battle plan, and Elizabeth pulled Russell over to a corner of the church. How could I have known she was making her own plan? And that it would end so badly?_

_It was around midnight when Jackson, who'd been keeping guard outside, came running in the church. _

"_What is it?" Miller asked, reaching for his weapon. _

"_They left," Jackson said. _

"_Who?"_

"_Russell and Elizabeth. They left."_

_We all got up, grabbed our weapons, and ran through the woods looking for them. If our plan was going to work, we needed someone who knew the Five Points gang. Our whole plan depended on Elizabeth and Russell's inside information. They knew that. And they still left. _

_As far as I knew, none of us even caught sight of Russell and Elizabeth. They were just too fast. _

_But that's how I'd always felt. That Elizabeth was too fast, always one step ahead of us. That's why I couldn't trust her, because she'd sense danger before we did, and leave us behind. And she did. _

"We couldn't find them," I say.

"…That's not exactly what happened," Jackson mutters.

"What do you mean?" I ask suspiciously.

And he tells me something about that night I would've rather not known.

_It was lucky Jackson was on guard when they left, because if it had been anyone one else, they would've snuck right by them. But Jackson heard them rustling through the leaves. _

"_Where are you going?" Jackson asked from behind them. _

_They slowly turned around to face him. _

"_Are you gonna shoot us?" Elizabeth asked quietly. _

_He shook his head._

"_I didn't think so."_

_She turned and started walking away again._

"_Elizabeth. What are you doing?"_

_She spun around. _

"_I'm leaving," she said._

"_What?"_

"_I'm _leaving_! L-E-A-V-I-N-G."_

_She said it with a fake southern accent. She used her regular Brooklyn voice to say the next part._

"_I hate you, you stupid farm boy!"_

_Then she turned around and ran as fast as she could, Russell following behind her. Jackson just stood there, stunned, for a few seconds. Then he went back and woke up Captain Miller, and the rest of us came running outside looking for them. _

_But they were too fast and they got away._

_At least, I thought they did._

_Apparently a hand reached out and covered Elizabeth's mouth, and someone dragged her backwards. _

"_Where are you going, little girl?" a voice growled in her ear._

_She tried to scream, but it was muffled by his hand. _

"_I don't have to kill you," the voice said. "We could make a deal, you know. Where are your army friends hiding, huh? What kind of weapons do they have? How about planes? Are we looking at an aerial attack here, or what?"_

_She shook her head. Would she tell? All the plans we'd made, all the promises. Would She really just hand them over to the enemy? Or would Elizabeth Fletcher finally stop running, turn around, and face the gun, if it meant keeping us, the squad, safe? _

_Jackson came up behind the man and shot him with his pistol. Jackson stared at Elizabeth for a second, breathing heavily, before he spoke. _

"_Get out of here," he said, his voice cracking. "Just go…worthless."_

_Elizabeth stepped back as if he'd slapped her. She didn't move. For the first time in her life, she stood her ground. She didn't run away._

_What does that mean? That she trusted Jackson? Even when she didn't trust the rest of us? _

"_I hate you," Jackson hissed. _

_She took a few steps backward, looking disoriented. Then she turned and ran as fast as she could._

_At least, that's how Jackson said it happened._

"Did you mean it?" I ask Jackson quietly.

He shakes his head.

"She wanted to leave, Reiben," he says, his voice sounding pained. "She was scared. She would've died if she'd stayed, you know that. I thought…I thought if I told her I hated her, she'd just keep running."

"Well, you were right," I say bitterly.

Because this is a whole new kind of betrayal. Elizabeth, of course, is the traitor, not Jackson. But Jackson let her go.

So, what does _that_ mean?

"I didn't do it to save her," Jackson says softly. "I did it to save us."

I run my hand through my hair, sick and tired of figuring all this shit out.

He did it to save us. And how, exactly, do you think Jackson worked that one out? Getting rid of our inside information to save us. It doesn't add up.

"The way her eyes always flicked around," Jackson says. "Looking for an escape route. And her finger twitched on that M-1 Garand. She knew everything that was happening, Reiben. She wasn't half as dumb as we thought."

Yeah, I guess Jackson would've seen something like that. I never looked closely enough to see her finger twitching on the gun, or her eyes surveying the room. But I did notice the way she listened.

She'd sit there, fiddling with something, looking completely disinterested in the conversation, but her eyes would slide over to whoever was talking. She heard every word we said. So, I guess Jackson's right, she wasn't half as dumb as we thought she was. But why does it matter?

"If she knew what was going on, what was stopping her from making her own plan?" Jackson asks me.

"Nothing," I say quietly, because now it's all coming together.

"And someone like Elizabeth would make a backup plan, in case we caught her. Right?"

I nod.

"Then what was her plan?" I ask.

He shrugs.

"Could've been anything. Which is why I let her go."

I think about it. If I'd been smart enough to notice those little details like Jackson had, would I have let her go, too?

No. I'd never let her go. Because I can't let things go. I would've dragged her back to the church, let the bullets take her the next morning. She tricked me. She tricked all of us.

Who cares if she dies?

"I'm not saving her," I say. "Not again."

I walk out of the interrogation room. When there's an intruder in the prison, I'm supposed to call the police, issue a lockdown, and afterwards, I have to file a report. But this is different. They weren't trying to free prisoners, or anything. Besides, calling the police would only make those hitmen angrier, and could end up getting me killed. And what could the police do, really? Nothing.

As I pass by Gallaso's cell, he calls out to me.

"Reiben," he says. "I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Gallaso," I mutter.

"It's real important."

I sigh, but backtrack to his cell.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"You know how I said you let me out?"

I nod.

"You didn't open my cell. You just let me out."

I shake my head, because I don't understand.

"You needed my help. I could feel you hurting. So I came, to help you."

I stare at Gallaso, unsure of what to say. I still can't figure out how he got out of his cell.

"Thank you," I eventually mutter.

"If you won't go to Pennsylvania for the Fletchers, do it for yourself," he says.

"I'm not going to Pennsylvania," I say, turning to walk away.

"They'll kill you, you know," he says.

I pause, turning around to look at him.

"What's going on?" I ask quietly.

"Elizabeth and Russell Fletcher left the Five Points gang. No one leaves a gang. Now all those kids who've been ordered around, beaten up, and forced into working for those gangs…they're looking at Elizabeth and Russell and wishing they could be like them. You know, leave the gang and start over. Be good guys."

"Elizabeth Fletcher isn't a _good guy_," I say angrily.

"Them gang kids think the Fletchers are good guys. And they want to be good, too. They're rioting, Reiben. Rebelling. And the only way to stop it is by killing Elizabeth and Russell. But it's a tricky situation, see? The gang kills the Fletchers, and they're just giving the rebels an incentive. A reason to act more drastically. But the _police_ catch the Fletchers, bring them to you, you electrocute them on Old Sparky…that's called an example. And that'll end these riots. At least, that's what the cops seem to think."

"Where do I fit into this?"

"That hitman? He's the key. The cops and the gang are working together on this one. Cops don't like gangs, but rioting gangs are even worse. And maybe New York cops are a little corrupt, too, but either way they want these riots to stop. Innocent people are dying, Reiben. They're falling hard and fast. The gangs want the riots to stop because nothing good can come out of this. Those rebels don't understand. You can never get rid of a gang. Because gangs are made from underdogs, and there's always gonna be more underdogs in this world. It's a cycle that never stops, and it's gotta be that way. It'd be like a puppet show rebellion. Those puppets finally free themselves from the hands that control 'em, and now they can't move, can they? They're just limp fabric. That's why this has gotta end."

I nod. Gang dynamics are complicated, but if you think about, the need for a gang is pretty simple to understand. You've got all these poor kids in a gang, all their dads are in gangs, and that's how they eat. They get money through these bad deeds, and they eat, and they live. But if they overthrow that gang, everything goes into chaos. There aren't enough jobs in the world for all the gang members to have one. With no money for food, and no money to pay rent, they'd end up on the street. And then what would happen? They'd start pickpocketing a bit. Pretty quickly, they'd turn to guns. They'd get a little organized and out of that would come a new gang.

You can't get rid of a gang, because it's made from underdogs and if there's something this world has more than enough of, it's underdogs.

"Everyone wants this rebellion to end," Gallaso says. "The Five Points gang is the only force that can catch the Fletchers. You've seen the police, they barely stop crime in their own state. Elizabeth Fletcher crossed the border into Pennsylvania, and now this is a federal crime. They'll never catch her without the gang's help. Which is why they sent the hitman. But that's more than a little corrupt, don't you think? Which is why no one can know the cops are paying gang members to do their dirty work for them. Imagine that. What would happen if everyone found out that the cops can't do the job right, so they hire criminals to do it for them? That wouldn't blow over so well, so no one can know. Except…now _you_ know. So they'll have to come back and kill you once they kill the Fletchers."

"What do I do?"

"If you don't want to save Elizabeth, then at least save yourself. If you and Jackson go down to Pennsylvania and kill Elizabeth and Russell Fletcher, what does that show the rebels? That an unknown force killed the face of their rebellion. The cops didn't do it, the gang didn't do it. Someone else killed the Fletchers, because they couldn't survive without the gang. With the Fletchers dead, there'd be no reason for the gang to invest time and money tracking you down. Because they'd know that if you talked, told everyone the police hired the gang members, you'd have to admit you killed the Fletchers. And then you'd end up right here, in a cell on death row for murder."

"So, you're saying I have to go to Pennsylvania and kill Elizabeth and Russell Fletcher?"

"No, you gotta kill the whole family. Witnesses who could link you to the murders."

I shake my head. No way am I killing a family.

"Think about it, Reiben. Elizabeth would've told her family what happened to her, don't you think? She never shut up, ever. And it does make a nice story. She would've told them how she'd run away because she didn't trust you. How she left you to die. Betrayed you. And now, if one day she turns up dead, who's the first suspect her family's gonna point to?"

"How the hell do you know about Elizabeth?"

"The other one told me."

"The other Fletcher?"

"No, the other one."

He jerks his head in Jackson's direction.

"Jackson told you?"

"The other one told me," Gallaso says calmly.

"The other one? What kind of a riddle is that?

"So, you're saying Jackson and I have to go down to Pennsylvania and kill the Fletchers? All of them?"

"You don't think you can do it?"

I hesitate. Should I show weakness to a murderer? Then I shake my head. I can't do it.

"Go to Pennsylvania. Take the Fletchers, all of them, and leave a trail for the hitmen to follow. Maybe if you're with the Fletchers long enough, you'll realize you _can_ kill them. And if you can't kill them, then when the hitmen finally catch up to you…you can die with them."

That's a horrible idea.

"What do you mean a trail?"

"You can't run away from them, Reiben. They'll find you, no matter where you go. So leave a trail that they can follow. So they can watch you, chase you down."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're not going down without a fight, that's why. If you wait here, and let them kill the Fletchers, they'll march right in the prison door and mow you down with machine guns. You won't stand a chance. Or, you could go out and have one last adventure. And maybe, if you play your cards right, one of those little kids will live."

"What little kids?"

"You know why Elizabeth went into that gang? Because they wanted to take her little cousin, Rory. And she put up a big fight over it, and the gang decided to take her instead. She did it to save Rory. He's eleven now, I think. And maybe if you do this thing right, Elizabeth won't have been bad for nothing."

She did it to save her cousin.

She never told me that.

"So, what I'm saying is," Gallaso continues. "You can die here for nothing, or you can go lead the hitmen on a trail, and you can die to save a little boy. And I think you should go save that boy. Because…because I tried to save that little girl, Reiben, and I couldn't."

He starts crying softly.

"And I don't want you to have to feel the way I felt. Knowing you let that little kid die."

"…I already tried to save Elizabeth," I say, my voice cracking. "But I couldn't."

Because she wasn't worth saving.

"It's too late for Elizabeth," Gallaso says. "Save Rory. Please…save Rory."

Eleven, huh? I think of myself at eleven. I didn't have someone watching out for me. Rory would've been in the gang if it hadn't been for Elizabeth.

Well, a lot of things would've happened if it hadn't been for Elizabeth.

I stare at Gallaso for a long time before nodding.

"Okay," I say hoarsely. "I'll try."

I wait until I'm back in the interrogation room, alone, before I sink to the floor.

I'm going to die.

I drop my head in my hands, because it can't end like this. Of all the ways I could've died…I mean, I'm too young.

_It's not fair. _

Then I wonder, is this how Elizabeth felt when she found out Rory would be in a gang? But how did Elizabeth, of all people, turn that unfairness into hope for Rory? How is it that that horrible girl saved her cousin?

Could it be, maybe, that she's not horrible? Is that it?

No. She left us to die.

Jackson comes up behind me and kneels down next to me.

"I'm going to Pennsylvania," he says quietly. "You coming?"

"Yeah," I say.

Not for Gallaso. Not for Rory.

For me. Because Richard Reiben will not be shot down in a prison. He won't stand here and wait for someone to come and kill him, at their own convenience.

No. I'm gonna be difficult. I'm gonna make those bastards chase me all over the country, and then I'm gonna take their kill from them. Because if I can mess up their plan and save Rory, then I'll die, in my own small way, undefeated.

And then I think, maybe that's how Elizabeth felt. That she'd be difficult. She wouldn't hand herself over to the gang. She'd run away, as fast as she could, and make them chase her. Maybe running away wasn't a flaw of hers. Maybe it was just her own way of dying undefeated.

I stand up. No, Elizabeth wasn't running away to die undefeated, she was running away so she would live. She'd be a coward, but she'd live.

I follow Jackson back to Gallaso's cell.

"What kind of a trail are you talking about?" Jackson asks him.

"It has to have a purpose," Gallaso says. "A final destination. But the hitmen have to be able to follow it. Go to your families."

"You want me to lead a hitman to my family?" Jackson asks, and I can just tell he'd never do it.

"They won't touch your families. You heard them, they don't want to leave a blood trail. They just want the Fletchers, and any witnesses. Your families aren't witnesses. Go find the Fletchers, and then all of you go visit Ms. Fletcher."

"Where is she?" Jackson asks.

"Prison. Then you'll come back here, and you'll go visit Reiben's mother. Then you'll go to Tennessee, and you'll visit your family, Jackson. Then you'll go into the woods, and you'll wait."

"Why are we watin' in the woods?"

"So the hitmen will find you. You'll have a gunfight, and they'll kill you. But it'll be in the woods. That's a good place to die in."

Die.

That's a word that sucks all the other words out of me. There are no soft edges to it. There's no way to pretend it means something else.

"Is that all?" I ask hoarsely.

"Reiben," Gallaso says. "Don't let go too soon, but don't hang on too long, okay?"

I nod, not understanding what he means at all.

"And don't let Elizabeth get mad, because if she gets mad, then it's gonna get _really_ ugly. And just remember, it's better to have someone you love kill you, than have a stranger do it. It's better to die by love Reiben, it's always better. And one more thing…the light within. Just remember that, okay? For me?"

I nod, still confused.

"And you tell Rory, when the time is right, tell him- tomorrow's gonna be better. Tomorrow's gonna be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today."

I nod again. I don't care about this fortune cookie crap, I just want him to tell me how to survive.

"And think about this, Reiben. How did Elizabeth get out of France? She's sturdily built, but she's not powerful enough to physically take out an enemy. She's not the kind of person someone takes pity on, and she's not the kind of person who makes allies. So how did she survive?"

I shake my head slowly. I don't know. She used us for protection, that's how.

"She outsmarted them. She even outsmarted you, in the end. She thinks like a thief, that's why she left. Remember that. She thinks like a thief, and sometimes, it takes a thief."

Suddenly, Upham's voice echoes in my head.

"_That really bright one is called Arcturus," he said, pointing out stars to Elizabeth and Russell. _

_It was a few days after Wade died. Elizabeth was…different. Quieter. She didn't joke. She just…well, it wasn't really her._

_We were all lying in the grass, looking up at the stars. I don't remember why. Miller and Horvath were in a barn in the field we were lying in. They were planning something, I guess. I don't really remember that, either. _

"_It's not even forty light-years away," Upham continued._

"_What's a light-year?" Elizabeth asked. _

"_Six million million miles," Upham answered._

"_Why is it miles if its years?"_

"_It's too complicated," I said. "You wouldn't understand."_

"_Because that's how far a ray of light can travel in one year," Upham said._

"_Oh," Elizabeth said. _

_She was quiet for a moment. _

"_How many light-years is it to heaven?" _

_I felt heat wash over me and flashed a look at Jackson. _

"_Heaven's closer than you think," Jackson said softly. _

_Elizabeth nodded. That's why she trusted Jackson. _

_But now I'm realizing that the real reason she trusted Jackson was because he was the first person to ever see something redeemable in her. He was the first person who believed in her. _

If Heaven is closer than we think, then…is it possible that miracles are closer than we think? Could Gallaso actually be a miracle worker?

No. He's a murderer.

"There's something I need to show you, Reiben," Gallaso says.

He reaches his hand between the bars of his cell and grabs my wrist. I try to pull away, but now I can't Gallaso anymore. The prison is gone, and I'm standing in a field.

Elizabeth is in front of me, pointing a pistol at a boy not much older than her. The boy is in the Five Points gang. He's our enemy.

I realize this must be right after Elizabeth ran away from us. I glance around, but Russell's not here, which is weird. That almost never happens.

"Please don't kill me," the boy begs quietly.

"I want you to live, rat," Elizabeth says disgustedly. "I want you to live long enough to be ashamed. It's what you deserve. Maybe you've been tricked and misguided, but there's something wrong with New York kids like you- and _me_- that we fall for these things. Capone visits with you in his fancy hideout, tells you how great you are to his mission, and you're willing to die for that. What's wrong with you? Do you have any idea?"

I watch in disbelief. This was the person I'd wanted Elizabeth to be. This is who Jackson always believed Elizabeth was, but I wouldn't listen.

And now I realize, this is the girl I miss. This is the Elizabeth I want to see. The one who allows people to help her, to protect her.

But when Elizabeth left, when she ran away like that, I thought she had changed. I thought she had truly become the villain of our story. And I didn't miss the person she left as, I missed the immature, sad little girl who only wanted to be a good person.

"Give me that," Elizabeth says, pointing to the backpack the boy's wearing.

He throws it at her. Suddenly, she grabs his shirt and pulls him right into her face.

"Listen," she hisses. "I made a mistake. Don't do what I did. Trust the American army, not Capone. Don't shoot the Americans. Got it?"

The boy nods quickly.

"And don't run away, all right?" she says shakily. "And if you see a group of soldiers, could you…could you tell them I'm sorry? Please?"

The boy nods again, slower this time.

"Captain Miller and his squad," Elizabeth says, her voice cracking. "Tell them I'm sorry."

She lets the boy go, and he scrambles across the field, into the woods. Elizabeth falls to her knees, dropping her head into her hands.

"Help me," she sobs, raising her head to the sky. "I need _help_. I don't know what to do."

I wait, and she waits, but nothing happens. Then I hear my voice.

"If God's on our side, who the hell could be on theirs?"

Elizabeth glances at the woods, in the direction my voice came from.

"If God be for us, who could be against us?" comes Upham's voice.

Elizabeth stands up slowly, and then heads off in the direction of the voices.

"Under better circumstances, she could've been a better person," Gallaso says, and I'm back in the prison again.

"How come she heard my voice?" I demand.

I never said that in the woods, only in the church. So how could she have heard me in the woods?

"It was a message," Gallaso says calmly. "That God was on your side. That was the moment Elizabeth really decided…she was on your side, too."

"Well, it was a little late for that," I say bitterly.

"Under better circumstances, she could've been a better person," Gallaso repeats. "And all that stuff she said…that was brave, and you know it."

"That wasn't _brave_," I say angrily. "She was running away!"

"Everything she told that boy was exactly the way she felt, Reiben. Didn't you hear her? She said the boy deserved to feel ashamed. How did she know that? Because _she_ felt ashamed, and _she _deserved it. She didn't run away from the guilty feelings, Reiben. She accepted them. And _that _was brave."

"That's not the kind of brave that counts."

"Just remember that, Reiben. She wanted to be a better person. And she tried."

Who the hell cares if she _tried_? She left us to die, and that's the only part of the story that counts.

I look over at Jackson.

"She did it, Reiben," Jackson says. "She did what we wanted her to."

"She didn't do anything," I say.

"She followed your voice," he says. "You and Upham's. Because she trusted you."

I pause for a moment, thinking it over. Did she really trust me?

No. Forget it. If she trusted us, she wouldn't have left.

"Remember that stuff I told you," Gallaso says.

I frown, trying to remember what he said, but it was too much information, to fast.

"Don't worry," Gallaso says. "You'll remember it when you need to."

I nod, because that's what he wants me to do, but it's not like I'll actually remember all that stuff.

"You have to hurry," Gallaso says. "You have to get there before the hitmen. Call Colby."

"Colby?"

"Elizabeth's sister. Call her, tell her it's Reiben, she'll know who you are, and tell her it's really important that she and her family come with you. All the Fletchers live with Colby."

"Why do they live with Colby?"

"They lived with Elizabeth's mom, but she's in jail."

"How do you know that?"

"I talked to the other one."

I hesitate, but allow Gallaso to give me Colby's phone number. I go to the prison phone and call, feeling nervous. What if Elizabeth told her something bad about me? Or, worse, what if Elizabeth told her the truth? That Jackson and I are the reason Elizabeth is blind in one eye, that I left Elizabeth in a river to drown, and that Jackson told Elizabeth he hated her? And then Colby's just supposed to pack up and take her whole family with us?

My hands shake as I wait for someone to pick up the phone.

"Hello?" a young boy answers.

I freeze, for once in my life, all words failing me. Do I have the wrong phone number? Because that's not Russell's voice.

"I'm Richard Reiben," I manage to get out. "Uh…I'm looking for Colby Fletcher?"

"COLBY!" the boy shouts.

I wince, but at least it's the right phone number.

"What, Rory?" I hear a woman ask.

Rory. So, that's the kid I'm supposed to save.

"There's a guy on the phone," Rory says. "Says his name is Richard Reuben, like the sandwich."

Reuben? Like the sandwich? I rub my forehead, because I feel a headache coming on. This is not going well.

"Hello?" Colby says. "Mr. Reuben?"

"I'm Richard _Reiben_," I say.

Colby laughs. She has a nice laugh.

"Sorry about that," she says. "Rory likes to try and scare people away."

I'd bet he only does that with men. He's trying to keep away any potential boyfriends of Colby, his cousin. How do I know? I used to do the same thing to my mom.

"It's fine," I say. "I…there's something…important…that I have to-"

"Did you say your name's _Reiben_?" she asks suddenly. "As in _Private _Reiben?"

"Yeah," I say, worried.

She knows my name. That means Elizabeth told her something about me.

"You're the one who…helped Elizabeth?"

Why did she hesitate on "helped"? Was it because she doesn't think I actually helped Elizabeth?

Did I?

"Umm…sort of," I say.

Colby's silent for a minute, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing. But when she does speak, the words throw me off.

"Thank you for saving my sister," she says softly.

And the weirdest thing is…she sounds sincere.

What did Elizabeth tell her?

"Well, I didn't really…I mean, I didn't save her," I say slowly.

"Yes, you did," she says. "Thank you."

Great. Now she sounds like she's gonna cry.

"Is she…is she okay?" I ask, unsure if I even want to know.

"Elizabeth?" Colby says softly. "…I think she's doing fine."

"What about Russell?"

"He…he's great, actually."

Russell seemed like the kind of person who would let go and move on. I don't know about Elizabeth.

"The reason I'm calling is because…is because of Elizabeth and Russell," I start. "There's something happening here that…that kind of…involves them."

"What's going on?" Colby asks, worry in her voice. "Is everything okay? Are _you_ okay?"

Hearing her, this woman I've never met, ask me if I'm okay, as if she actually cares about me, makes me tell her the whole thing. I start with Gallaso. I tell her everything. Even the parts I still don't understand, like how Gallaso healed that dying man.

Then I regret it, because now she'll think I'm crazy, or I'm drunk.

But I keep taking anyways, and I tell her about the hitmen, and Gallaso's plan. Except I leave out the part about everyone dying. I tell her Jackson and I have to kill the hitmen. I don't tell her the hitmen will kill all of us.

When I'm finished, I wonder again what the point of going to all this trouble is. Then I remember.

Rory.

I brace myself, waiting for Colby to hang up, or suggest I need help.

"So…they're coming to kill us?" Colby asks quietly.

"Yes," I say. "But we can lead them somewhere else, and Jackson and I can kill _them_."

Again, I leave out the part where we all die.

"…Can you tell all that to Todd?" Colby asks, worried.

Todd. Elizabeth and Colby's cousin. He's the same age as Colby, but I guess Colby looks to Todd for protection.

Just like Elizabeth looks to Russell for protection.

Just like Rory must look to Elizabeth for protection.

Colby knows that Todd will understand what's happening better than she does. Todd was a Navajo code talker, and he helped us for a while. Even when Elizabeth and Russell ran away, Todd stayed.

And if I have to tell Todd the plan, I'm telling him the truth. Colby never would've agreed to us all dying to save Rory, she'd think there was another way out. But Todd will understand.

"Sure," I say.

"Todd," Colby says. "It's Reiben. It's really important."

"Reiben?" a girl says. "He's on the phone?"

I'd recognize that voice anywhere, and it's not Todd's.

"Elizabeth," Colby says. "Just give me a minute, okay? He needs to talk to Todd."

"Give me the phone!" Elizabeth shouts.

"No," Colby says. "Not now."

"Colby!" Elizabeth shouts. "_Give me the phone!_"

"Don't put her on," I say quietly.

I need to talk to Todd. If I have to talk to Elizabeth, I want to do it in person.

"Give me the phone, Colby!"

"He doesn't want to talk to you!" Colby snaps at her.

I cringe. That's not exactly how I wanted her to phrase that.

"Hello?" Todd comes on the phone.

I tell him the whole story. The _true_ whole story. He just listens, doesn't say anything the whole time. When I'm finished, he doesn't talk for a minute, thinking things over.

"I think that's probably the best thing to do," he says finally. "When will you be here?"

"Tonight," I say.

"Good," he says, and gives me their address.

We hang up, and that's when I realize Elizabeth stopped asking for the phone after Colby told her I didn't want to talk to her.

Great. Now she probably thinks I'm mad at her.

Well, she should. Yeah, let her think I'm mad at her. I _am_. She left us to die out there.

I'm _very _mad.

Jackson and I walk back to Gallaso's cell. There's no going back now.

"One last mission," Gallaso says softly. "Then you're free."

Free as in dead? I nod silently.

Mikowski and the other night guard come in, laughing and joking.

"Mikowksi," I say. "We need you to cover for us."

"What?" Mikowski asks.

"This is really important."

"How am I supposed to cover for you?"

"We just need a few days. Your cousin doesn't have a job, just bring him here. No one will ever know the difference. Please, Mikowski."

"Well, what are you doing? It's not illegal, is it?"

I glance sideways at Jackson.

"Jackson's dad is in the hospital," I say quickly. "We're driving down to Tennessee so he can take care of his mom."

"…Why do you need to go with him?"

"…We're half-brothers. She's my mom, too."

"I've met your mom, Reiben. She doesn't live in Tennessee."

I sigh, but it's too late now. If I want him to cover for us, I'm gonna have to tell him the truth.

"We're going to Pennsylvania to find a girl who hates us so that her cousin won't get killed."

Mikowski blinks.

"Will there be any marijuana involved?" he asks.

"No."

"Gunfights?"

"Possibly."

"Is this girl hot?"

"She's fifteen."

"Does she have a sister?"

"Yes."

"Is _she_ hot?"

"I don't know."

"She's beautiful," Gallaso says.

"Will she be coming back with you?" Mikowski asks.

"I don't know," I say.

I don't know if we're coming back at all.

"Can I come with you?"

I freeze. This wasn't part of my plan.

"How are you gonna cover for us if you're with us?"

"I've got it covered," he says, then leans closer to us and lowers his voice. "My cousin's basically a lawyer. He can take care of it."

"You're cousin's a conman."

"…Like I said, he's got it covered."

I look at Mikowski. I've known him since high school. He's just looking for adventure, I know that. Maybe he even wants to help. And it couldn't hurt, having him along. I've met his cousin, and he's the kinda guy you want on your side. Plus, an extra guy means extra backup, and I trust Mikowski.

But if he comes with us, he'll die. Unless…unless he comes with us to Pennsylvania, and we leave him here when we come see my mom. Yeah, that'd work.

"Fine," I say. "If your cousin covers for us, then you can come."

He grins, then walks over to the beat-up prison telephone and makes a call. He talks for a while and hangs up, still grinning.

His cousin comes about fifteen minutes later, surrounded by three tall, strong men.

Before I leave, I go back to Gallaso's cell.

"What if we can't save Rory?" Jackson asks him.

"Everything is possible for him who believes," he says calmly.

I can't be sure, but I think…I think that's from the Bible.

Jackson nods.

"We'll meet you in the car," Jackson says to me.

He and Mikowski go out the door, leaving me alone with Gallaso. I stare at him, unable to find the words I need.

"People hurt the ones they love," Gallaso says sadly. "That's how it is, all over the world."

People hurt the ones they love.

I found the words I need.

"What if…what if you lost the one person who needed you the most?" I ask Gallaso, my voice cracking.

"What if you'd just been stupid enough to let her slip away?" Gallaso says softly.

Slip away. That's exactly what happened. I let her slip away.

And if I let her slip away…then I have to go find her again.

I'd never admit it in front of Jackson, but I miss Elizabeth. Not Elizabeth the coward, who ran away. But Elizabeth the Brave Thief, who was loyal. If you forget about the horrible way it ended, then you might get the impression Elizabeth wasn't the villain after all.

And you might be right. I haven't decided yet.

"Thanks," I say to Gallaso. "…For everything."

He smiles and nods.

Convinced everything might go the way I want it to, I head to my car. Jackson and I get in the front, and Mikowski slides into the back.

"Look," I say to Mikowski. "There's gonna be hitmen chasing us. Two of 'em. You okay with that?"

Mikowski nodded.

"I don't think they'll kill you," I say casually, turning the car on.

I hesitate, and then turn the car off.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I ask Jackson.

"Be strong and courageous," Jackson says softly, in the same voice he used to pray when he was sniping. "Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

Normally, that would make me mad. I'm about to go risk my life and Jackson's throwing Bible quotes at me. But today, right now, it seems to fit.

I say it over and over to myself as we drive to Pennsylvania. I like it. I've said a lot of lies in my life, a lot of deceptive, shitty lies, and I know what they sound like.

But what Jackson just said doesn't sound like a lie at all.

All the way to Pennsylvania, I hold onto the words Gallaso gave me. The words that I need to remember.

And then I remember something else. Something I'd completely forgotten until now. I promised Wade.

It flashes before my eyes. I see Wade dying again, laying there, bleeding to death. And I see him weakly mouth those words that have haunted me for so long.

Save her.

That's what I'm doing, Wade. I didn't do a very good job the first time, but now I'm gonna save her for real. By saving her cousin, who she threw her life away to protect. I'll save Elizabeth by saving Rory. And by doing that, I can redeem myself.

I'm getting a second chance at this, which is a miracle in itself, really. A second chance to redeem myself.

Is it possible that...like light-years and Heaven, miracles are closer than we think?

**Please review!**


	4. Dead Fish

**Elizabeth**

"Oh, no…" Russell groans. "No, no, no…. No! Come back!"

I watch curiously as Russell's basketball crawls to a stop on crabby Mr. Anderson's lawn. The yellowing pages of the Scarborough, Pennsylvania Public Library's _Jane Eyre_ flap in the wind as I raise my eyes to Mr. Anderson's second-floor window. A pair of binoculars disappear from the other side of the windowpane, followed by an abrupt closing of the black curtains. Thirteen stomps resonate from inside the rickety house as he descends the stairs, gleeful at the thought of a new toy.

"Here he comes," I tell Russell calmly, lowering my eyes once more to discover the fate of dear Jane_. _

A door slams open and closed as Mr. Anderson flings his frail old body down the porch steps and onto his pristine lawn. An ancient hand crawling in veins reaches down and scoops Russell's basketball lovingly. A crooked finger shakes in our direction, accompanied by a practiced snarl.

"Stay away from my lawn!" Mr. Anderson shouts in that phlegm-filled, aging voice of his.

"Wait, Mr. Anderson!" Russell begs. "Please! That's my only ball."

"And it's on _my property_. Now get away! Go on, get!" His hunched figure hobbles back into the strange abyss of his door where toys disappear forever, never to be seen again.

"Aww," Russell whines, plopping down next to me on our own porch stoop, across the dusty road from Mr. Anderson's. "My ball."

"It's his now," I say indifferently, turning a battered page to hear what Mr. Rochester thinks of Jane's no-shit attitude.

"_Unless_…"

"Only if you want to die, Russell."

"Which is why _you_ should do it. Come on, Elizabeth, you're good at it! Just sneak into his house tonight and bring my ball back. He's too old to run down the stairs and catch you. Easy."

"What a silly idea."

"Come on! I'd do it for you!"

"You would not."

"Fine. I guess you've just lost your touch."

"I would be fully capable of retrieving your ball were my wishes to warrant it. But they do not. Too bad for you." I slam my book shut, annoyed by the realization that I won't be getting anymore reading done here with Russell heckling me.

But my cousin pursues me into our small house, following me through the front hall to the kitchen. I sit in a rickety wicker chair at a pockmarked table, turning my chair away from the peeling green paint to face instead my cousin Riley. Her seven-year-old body slumps over a wretched stick-figure drawing as she furiously colors in an orange house.

"You have chocolate on your face," I state matter-of-factly as I reopen my book.

_What?_ she signs.

Ah. My words are literally falling on deaf ears.

I mime wiping my face, and she catches on with a grin. Sloppily dragging her sleeve across her mouth, she points guiltily to the cookie jar. I frown in distaste, pulling a napkin from the drawer and handing it to her, careful not to let our fingers touch.

"Elizabeth, all I'm asking for is one basketball. Please."

Ignoring Russell, I try once more to discover just what, exactly, Jane will do about this most recent predicament. Alas, it is not to be.

"I'd like to present you an offer," Russell says quietly, his face a stone as he sits next to me.

"I'll allow it," I respond calmly.

"There is a certain girl… with certain dolls…"

"Say no more." I hold up my hand to stop him. "I will require three flashlights, a steak knife, twenty feet of string, and Riley."

**Reiben**

"I see Elizabeth hasn't changed," I mutter as we pull into her driveway, earning me a distasteful glare from Jackson.

In the back Mikowski presses his face to the window as he stares in wonder at the strange scene before us. Elizabeth Fletcher sits in an open police car, her legs dangling out the sides. Russell Fletcher sits on the grass below her, his arm on his knee because his wrist is handcuffed to Elizabeth's. A tall woman with black hair running in a braid down her back stands talking to a police officer who is simultaneously being yelled at by an old man. An old orange basketball sits guiltily in the officer's hands, evidently at the heart of the crime. And a young girl with wide, wet eyes stands off to the side, her tiny hand held by none other than Timothy fucking Upham.

"What the hell is going on here?" I murmur as I swing my door open and step out into the frigid night.

"Is this their father?" the young policeman asks, looking as though this is his first day on the job.

I open my mouth, a _hell no_ on my lips, only to be cut off by Elizabeth.

"If he was my father, I would shoot myself," she answers the officer politely. I have the urge to pull the trigger on my pistol, but wisely choose not to act on this impulse in front of an officer of the law. Instead, I focus my attention on a different traitor.

"Timothy Upham, what the hell are you doing here?" I ask slowly.

"Now's not a good time for this, Reiben," he answers fearfully.

"And why is that, Timmy?"

"Because this officer is arresting my assassins," the old man says matter-of-factly.

I open my mouth for a snarky remark, but nothing comes. I'm far too stunned by this cheeky old man, who reminds me a little too much of myself, to say much of anything.

"That is not accurate," Elizabeth says calmly. "This man has been keeping me hostage in his basement."

"That is a lie!" the old man roars.

The officer stands defeated with the basketball in one hand and a small pad of paper in the other.

"Officer," I say kindly, preparing a lie as I place an arm on his shoulder. "This man is their grandfather. He's ninety-three, and… well, lately… you know…" I tap my head knowingly.

"Oh," the boy nods, happy to be closing this strange case. "I see. Look, if you don't mind, I'll be heading back to the station now. This seems like a domestic issue you should work out amongst yourselves…"

Ignoring the old man's protests, the officer unlocks Elizabeth and Russell's handcuffs, disappears back into his rickety old car, and drives off.

"These two are felons!" the old man screams at me.

"Who _are_ you?" I ask, wiping some stray spittle from my face.

"Sergeant Frances Anderson!" he shouts angrily, waving an old finger at my idiocy. "I fought in the first world war, and I didn't do it to be harassed by these hooligans!"

Elizabeth and Russell roll their eyes, and I get the feeling they've gotten this very lecture before.

"That's very nice, Mr. Anderson, but we have to be going now. So you have yourself a nice day and-"

"These kids were in my house illegally, and they'll go nowhere until this matter is settled!"

I sigh in annoyance, turning to Jackson for help.

"Sir, there seems to be a misunderstand-"

"A southerner! Get off my lawn, you rascal! Go on, get! I thought we taught you a lesson or two about obeying us northerners in the civil war, you backwards buffoon!"

Jackson stares at the man in confused astonishment while I stifle a laugh.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm very sorry the kids bothered you again," Upham interrupts gently. "We talked about this, and I thought they understood that they were to be nothing less than respectful to you. If there's anything we can do to-"

"Oh, I'll tell you what you can do. You can take your apology and-"

"Mr. Anderson, Elizabeth and Russell are very sorry for the harm they brought to your house tonight."

"No, we're not," Elizabeth corrects.

"He stole my basketball," Russell accuses.

"It was on my lawn," Mr. Anderson says calmly. "If you wanted that basketball, you should have respected our property lines."

"Mr. Anderson, may they please have their ball back?" Colby asks politely.

"No."

I turn my head to hide the smile.

"Colby, he's a thousand years old, he can't stop us!" Russell urges.

"_Russell!"_ she snaps.

"Okay," I interrupt. "This isn't getting us anywhere. Mr. Anderson, they're sorry they ruined your night." I pick up the basketball from where the officer abandoned it on the ground. "We have to leave now, but have a fantastic day." I turn and walk back to the Fletchers' house despite the rampant argument from Mr. Anderson, who attempts to hobble after me, yelling and spitting all the while.

I toss the ball to Russell, who hugs it lovingly as we enter the house. Sitting at the table, with innocent expressions that tell me they were just watching out the window, are three children sipping juice with Todd.

No. No more. This is far too much to handle.

"Elizabeth and Russell, you're going to tell me right now what you were doing breaking into Mr. Anderson's house," Colby demands.

I turn to the table to find that Elizabeth has already situated herself in a seat and is happily reading a tattered copy of _Jane Eyre. _Russell sits next to her, stroking his basketball absentmindedly as he contemplates what to say.

"He took something that did not belong to him," Elizabeth says robotically without lifting her eyes from the page. "And he paid the price."

"Elizabeth, I don't care what he takes from you, you can't just break into someone's house and-"

"That is an exaggeration." Elizabeth lifts her eyes from the page and holds up a hand to stop Colby. "We entered through the cellar door. The only thing that was broken was a tacky vase, and I refuse to mourn the loss of a flea market throwaway."

"What you did was illegal!"

"It was justified."

"Forget about the basketball for a minute," Upham interrupts. "The bigger problem here is Susan Carter."

Russell and Elizabeth share a look. Russell's eyes open wide, but Elizabeth closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly. They turn back to face us.

"Susan Carter?" Elizabeth repeats innocently, her face expressionless.

"Her father called earlier. He said Susan found a dozen beheaded dolls hanging from their porch with a note saying 'You're Next.'"

"…Did she scream?" Elizabeth asks with a slight smile.

"Why would you… How… What is… _Why?"_

"Susan Carter is an enemy of the state. She got what she deserved."

"Elizabeth, Susan is not an enemy of anything. She's your classmate, and you're going to apologize to her."

"Woe to the state," Elizabeth announces, slamming her book closed and exiting the kitchen with perfect posture and poise. The blonde bun tied tightly at the back of her neck starkly contrasts the simple black dress adorning her body.

"When did she get like that?" I ask Upham curiously. The Elizabeth I've just witnessed is drastically different from the one I remember.

"She's always been like that," he answers. "She's just gotten more and more gloomy lately."

Gloomy? I would have said psychotic.

"Okay, but that's not normal," I tell Upham, pointing to her empty seat. "There's something wrong with that."

"You think I didn't get her help?" Upham says suddenly, irate. "I took her to three different psychiatrists. Obviously there's something wrong with her! You would've known that sooner if you hadn't been so busy taking care of _yourself_ for the past year!"

I narrow my eyes at Upham, half in indignation, half in surprise. He's gained far too much confidence in the past year; I much preferred the scrawny boy who twitched every time you glanced at him.

"For your information-"

"We don't have time for this," Jackson interrupts, stepping between us. "We need to get out of here before someone catches up to us."

I'm annoyed by his level-headedness, as always, but I agree that I don't want my head to be shot off. Upham disappears after Elizabeth while Colby angrily slams dishes into the sink.

I tilt my head to take in the full effect of her rear and Jackson elbows me in the gut. I turn to him in annoyance and he gives me a Jackson look, serious enough to make me shut up.

"So, uh… How long has Upham been hanging around here?" I ask.

Colby pauses, a wet dish in her hand. "What do you care?" she responds tiredly.

"Do you have a problem with me?" I snap, tired of all this shit.

"You know, Elizabeth may have liked you, but Upham told me all about you. And frankly, I don't care what you do to Elizabeth, but you'd better not hurt Upham."

"How come?"

"Because he doesn't deserve it."

And she does.

Fine. If that's how she wants to play it, so be it.

"I'll be in the car," I tell Jackson, my voice laced with annoyance.

I stomp outside and jerk open my car door, cursing as it catches. I kick the damn vehicle and reach inside to unlatch it through the window. A hand reaches from the backseat and grabs my wrist before I have a chance to pull away.

**Upham**

"What happened with Susan?" I ask Elizabeth sternly from the door.

She sits upright at the top of her bed, back resting against the wall as she flicks a lighter on and off, over and over again, her murky blue eyes hypnotized by the flame.

"If you'll refer back to our earlier conversation, you'll find that Susan needed to be punished. I took care of it."

"Why did she need to be punished?"

"An enemy of the state deserves nothing less than death."

"What did she do?"

"Now that's a different question."

I sigh as I step into her torture chamber where I've often heard the younger kids screaming in pain, only to run in and find Elizabeth dissecting a beloved doll or melting brave army men. I join her on the bed, sitting next to her stiff body as she continues to flick the lighter.

"What's wrong, Elizabeth?" I ask gently. "What did I do to make you like this?"

"I'm thoroughly confused by where you're taking this conversation," she answers stiffly.

I take the lighter from her hands and place it on the nightstand.

"Why do you hate Susan?"

"Susan Carter spread slander about me in the school hallway."

"What kind of slander?"

"Irrelevant."

"Elizabeth, we can sit here all day, but we're not leaving until you answer my questions."

She heaves an annoyed sigh before continuing. "Susan Carter invented a lie regarding my romantic interest in boys."

"…Well, what did she say?"

"She said that I canoodle about with women."

"Ah… In those exact words?"

"More or less. I told her that what she fantasized about at home was her own business, but I kindly requested that she keep me out of it."

I feel a small smile tug at my lips. "And what happened?"

"I put a snake in her backpack. But I felt that it didn't quite hold the same gravity I'd been hoping for, so I sent a second message that emphasized decapitation, which I believe is the only way to properly deal with your enemies."

I wonder briefly where she found a snake before deciding it's not worth asking.

"You know that was wrong, Elizabeth."

"I know that you _think_ it was wrong."

"This has to stop."

"I will stop when she stops. Or is decapitated. Whichever comes first. Scout's honor. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a few possessions to pack."

I reluctantly allow her to pack, as I can see I won't be getting anywhere anytime soon. She has drawn an iron curtain between civilization and her mind, and it is impenetrable.

**Reiben**

"What the hell is your problem?" I shout at Mr. Anderson, snatching my wrist from his grip. "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I'm coming with you."

"What?"

"You're taking away two criminals who nearly killed me, and I'm coming with you."

"_Why?" _

"To make sure they don't escape your custody. If the cops won't bring them to justice, I'll do it myself."

"Get out of my car."

"I refuse."

"I will literally drag you out of there, Mr. Anderson."

"You'll do no such thing! I've got a weapon!" He brandishes a plastic knife, and I raise my hands in surrender. No point in fighting the old coot. I can drop him off at the next rest stop and tell him it's the courthouse.

"Fine. Stay there. See if I give a damn."

I feel a body appear beside me, and I turn to find the small girl whose hand Upham had been holding earlier. She stares up at me with wide eyes and makes some sort of motion with her hands.

"What?" I ask.

She does it again, and I feel an anger creep up inside of me.

"Look, I don't know what you're doing," I snap.

"That's the deaf girl," Mr. Anderson says, peering out the car window. "I never know what she's saying. Just shake your hand at her and tell her to get off your lawn, that's what I do."

I stare at him in confusion before returning my gaze to the girl. She makes the motions again, and I feel a headache coming on.

"This is not going to work out," I murmur.

"She wants to get in the car," Upham informs me as he carries two suitcases to the car. He drops them in my trunk and squats down next to the girl. His hands fly in front of her, and she smiles. I notice she's missing three baby teeth. The girl motions with her hands again and Upham hoists her into his arms, carrying her to his own car.

What the hell were they talking about?

"Rory!" Russell roars, chasing the younger boy down the porch steps and tackling him in the grass. "I swear to God, if you don't give me my basketball back right now, I'll kill you!"

I rub my temples in exasperation as two more children, carrying suitcases that say 'Alba' and 'Gabriel,' descend the porch steps, followed by Todd and Colby. Through the open window, I see Jackson desperately trying to convince someone to leave the house and venture into the dark, early morning. Finally, after much coaxing, a stiff Elizabeth exits the house, her bun properly in place above her black, long-sleeved dress, a tattered suitcase in her left hand. She frowns at the rising sun as it reaches her pale face and walks purposely, always poised, to my car.

"I've been informed that I must ride with you."

"That's not gonna happen," I say simply.

"Take it up with Jackson," she says, her eyes slits.

I stare in disbelief at Jackson, who shrugs in defense. I watch in astonishment as Russell, Todd, and Rory pile into Colby's car, followed by Alba, Gabriel, and Riley in Upham's car. Then Mr. Anderson climbs over Mikowski in the back seat of my own car and stumbles onto the grass.

"Your car smells like dead fish," he declares. "I'm riding with the good-looking man."

"The good-looking man?" I ask Jackson. "How is that not me?"

Mr. Anderson shuffles to Upham's car and persuades Riley to leave. They switch seats, landing a confused Riley in my car. I sigh heavily, because this is going to be a long ride. Elizabeth sits in the middle seat, back rim-rod straight, directly between Riley and Mikowski. I slide into the passenger seat and rub my tired face. I drove all night; now it's Jackson's turn.

"What did he mean dead fish?" I turn to Jackson.

He sniffs the air. "I don't know, but I smell it, too."

A thin smile appears on Elizabeth's face. "It smells like something's died in here," she says with the faintest hint of excitement.

"Let's just get out of here," I murmur, not looking forward to dealing with Elizabeth for the rest of the car ride.

"Did you know that that field was used to slaughter spies in the civil war?" she asks politely as we head down the street, as if she is making friendly conversation.

God, help me.

"No…" Jackson says slowly. I'm pretty sure there weren't enough civil war spies in Pennsylvania to warrant a slaughtering, but I keep my mouth shut, as I learned long ago that there simply is no way to win an argument with Elizabeth.

"There was blood all over the grass," Elizabeth says dreamily. "Intestines collapsing… eyes rolling around underfoot."

Mikowski begins to look sick, and rolls down his window.

"Ah, yes," Elizabeth says happily. "I do so love when the breeze blows the smell of decomposing corpses at me."

I cover my eyes with my hand and pray she'll shut up soon. If every day goes as badly as this one, I know we're in for a rough ride. Taking a slow breath of stale air, I begin to wonder what's causing that odor, because it's starting to smell a little more sinister than a couple of dead fish.


End file.
